The Painted Shadow
by Sketchybadwriter
Summary: Daryl Dixon's personal thoughts and feelings on his journey and integration into the group; as well as his growth from his freedom from Merle.
1. Invented

Disclaimer: All Characters of THE WALKING DEAD belong to Frank Derabount(Derabont?). I own nothing.

**The Painted Shadow**

It's an odd thought to have, an odd thought to even have knowledge of: That the long dead can have somewhat of a delicate scent if you will. In the beginning; their scent was almost like bad B.O. And whatever perfume or cologne that they had been wearing before their attack. In the middle, when the summer in Atlanta was humid and unforgiving, it was so fucking sick that it perforated your god-damned body and seemed to stick inside your pores. Even on days when none of them had been around any walkers you could still fucking smell death on you. Sam Cooke, a black fella who was murdered in the 50's for screwing some white chic sang a sweet song called a _A Bar of Soap_ and all of the things it could wash away...that s.o.b was lucky some racist blew him away and he didn't have to learn personally that a bar of soap ain't worth shit when it comes to washing the scent of Walkers off of you...albeit close encounters or because it's being carried on the wind.

_ Evolution_

No one slept anymore, not really. The Walkers sure as fuck didn't sleep in their constant quest for death and carnage. And with the groups constant quest for managing to stay alive; they always slept with one ear wise to noise. It was like when he was a boy, and his mother explained to him that when a new baby was in the house, you never really slept, your brain was always listening noises it might make. Speaking of babies, the two children in the group, Carl and Sophia were still sleeping heavily, and it was already 11 am, not that there was much food around for them to have a good breakfast. It's not that he didn't like them, or that they found them troublesome, it was just that they seemed to...ignore him. It bothered him some, you know? When he first joined the group, he assumed that Carl and Sophia would be bothering him all of the time to see his weapons and his bow and never ending things like that; but they'd nearly said a word to him. He often wondered if he they were afraid of him.

Those very children now slept heavily, because they had that sense of security given to them by their parents; unfortunately that fragile veil was being lifted, and Carl and Sophia were learning quickly that their parents weren't exactly all-powerful, really sad thing to learn at their age, although Daryl was much older and just now finding his voice and his own strengths.

His entire life Merle had stood over him like some painted shadow. God if you only knew the weight Merle's stare had, then you'd know what it like to have an entire ocean dropped on every part of you. He'd learned to live in fear, and in silence and in survivor mode, and made it fit to whatever occasion he needed it to.

He heard sound and immediately turned in it's direction, crouching a bit. It was Sophia and Carl, they were awake, and the sound had been their laughter. For a moment he even thought that it might be Merle...

He sighed deeply rubbing his eyes and his shoulders fell a bit, Jesus Christ he suddenly felt tired and like...a whole ocean had been dropped on him...


	2. Carol

** The Painted Shadow**

** CAROL**

A walker had stumbled into their "village" if you will. He looked so different from all of the other Walkers. His skin looked melted and boiled, like Freddy Kruger, he'd burn so fast that he hadn't even had time to char, but he did cook some, and you could smell it on him. It wasn't only death that came forth and welcomed itself upon your senses, it was barbeque as well.

He pulled back his lips and let out a dysfunctional groan, even for a Walker; his vocal chords destroyed by smoke that became trapped in his throat. A swift arrow through his skull sent him to the ground, I turned him over and Carol took a good look at him.

"He was already dead when fire was set to him." she told, covering her nose and mouth with the back of her hand

"How can you tell that?" I asked gently as possible. Carol's husband used to beat the crap out her. My daddy and Merle both treated women like that, though I ain't hit a woman...don't see the point and sure as fuck don't give me feelings of authority.

"Well, the skin was long dead when it caught fire, and there is no sign of plasma or other healing. My guess is that some people lit him up hoping he'd burn until he was ash." she told standing

"That's so stupid," I told angry, but careful around Carol "everyone knows you put one through the skull, that's the only was to keep 'em down." I explained pressing my pointer and middle finger to my skull and walking away "shh," I said in disgust looking back down at it "only point of burnin' 'em is when their officially dead." I told, and walked away.

Like I said, Carols husband used to do a real number on her. I can only guess how many times he put her in the Intensive Care Unit or how many bones were broken. It makes he said to look at her, to think of her. Most of us didn't become jumpy or on ALERT MODE until after the walkers. I'm sure that Carol has been this was since her husband. I try to use a calm tone when she is around, because harsh ones make her jump, and lord knows she don't need no more of that in her life.

I can see Sophia and Carl playing in the field, the grass up to their shoulders and their laughing and running; their hair being mussed by the wind; normally this would be a real sweet thing to watch. Two innocent children playing, not a care in the world. But for us adults, beckoning the children back, back to us, back to safety, because their could be Walkers, crawling in that field, waiting to bite or scratch their ankles.

The wind blows and the children look over the windy sea of long grass, and see six adults beckoning back to the harsh and horrifying reality that is now their life.

And reluctantly, they come.


	3. Cold Cream

**Cold cream**

I remember my momma, but then again I don't. She left when I was six years old. Left me to an absent father and a significantly older brother who for less than a better word; used me a sort of experiment, plaything if you will.

I remember my momma wore lots of make-up for the boys and her hair was always real high and teased, though I don't remember any boys ever looking her way. To get all of that crap off of her face she used to take a rag and rub this pungent white cold cream around and around in neat circles...it was probably the only methotic thing she ever did in her life. It always amazed me that my mother looked better without make-up, not so worn. Her foundation and her eyeshadow had a way of settling into the lines of her face, like colored rivers of stress.

I asked her why she wore so much make-up, and she would sigh and say "When Merle was born I was a baby, and when you was born, I was already an old lady." and she'd puff her cigarette and look somewhere...anywhere but at me.

About 5 weeks after turning six years old, I saw that my mothers car was gone; and although I don't know how I knew it, but I just knew that she was not coming back. I didn't even sadly open her closet and touch her close, I just kept it to myself, like I did everything.

Even at the age of 4 my father and Merle would really give me a beating and lay into me; but when Mommy left was the times when they'd knocked me unconscious, I hit the floor around 2 pm and wake-up around 6. I made my own breakfast, lunch and dinner and never complained. Talking got you noticed, being noticed got you attention, and attention got you things you didn't want.

It wasn't always a beating out of anger, sometimes they found it hysterical when I'd try to defend myself...and then when I was seven I discovered that dads and older brothers got lonely. Don't get my wrong, my father would sooner beat the shit out of me than give me a hug- and that is how it went down always. And dad would often start feeling the need for a woman and disappear for days; but Merle saw me as a project, all to himself as well. Merle wanted to show me how to be a man. Men were strong, men took the pain, men shut the fuck up, and mostly, men knew how to keep a secret.

I was around 7 and he was around14 when this started. Girls weren't interested Merle and I suppose he needed someone. It felt so terrible and wrong when it happened, sometimes I prayed for our father to catch us, because I knew he'd kill us both and deliver me from this HELL.

My mind is searching for details until Carl taps me on the shoulder, and I jump a bit. He steps back and waits for my reaction.

"Well go on then...what?" I ask with my usual annoyed harshness

"Will you show Sophia and I your bow again?" he asks


End file.
